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“You usually get one or the other, you get someone who knows how to tell a story but they don't necessarily know about light and camera and rhythm, or you get someone who can make beautiful images but they can't necessarily tell a great story. He does both and I think he's going to be one of the film-makers that our time is remembered for.”

“You value appearance more than truth?’ ‘Appearance is truth. If I hoard billions of credits but dress like a beggar I will be treated as such. Likewise, I may be drowning in debt, but if I carry myself as a success then that is how I shall be treated. You obsess over your view of the world, of forcing others to accept it. But you don’t realise the world is shaped by perception. If you know the truth, but all others think otherwise, then you are the liar.”

“You've a perfect right to call me as impractical as a dormouse, and to feel I'm out of touch with life. But this is the point where we simply can't see eye to eye. We've nothing whatever in common. Don't you see. . . it's not an accident that's drawn me from Blake to Whitehead, it's a certain line of thought which is fundamental to my whole approach. You see, there's something about them both. . . They trusted the universe. You say I don't know what the modern world's like, but that's obviously untrue. Anyone who's spent a week in London knows just what it's like. . . if you mean neurosis and boredom and the rest of it. And I do read a modern novel occasionally, in spite of what you say. I've read Joyce and Sartre and Beckett and the rest, and every atom in me rejects what they say. They strike me as liars and fools. I don't think they're dishonest so much as hopelessly tired and defeated." Lewis had lit his pipe. He did it as if Reade were speaking to someone else. Now he said, smiling faintly, "I don't think we're discussing modern literature." Reade had an impulse to call the debater's trick, but he repressed it. Instead he said quietly, "We're discussing modern life, and you brought up the subject. And I'm trying to explain why I don't think that murders and wars prove your point. I'm writing about Whitehead because his fundamental intuition of the universe is the same as my own. I believe like Whitehead that the universe is a single organism that somehow takes account of us. I don't believe that modern man is a stranded fragment of life in an empty universe. I've an instinct that tells me that there's a purpose, and that I can understand that purpose more deeply by trusting my instinct. I can't believe the world is meaningless. I don't expect life to explode in my face at any moment. When I walk back to my cottage, I don't feel like a meaningless fragment of life walking over a lot of dead hills. I feel a part of the landscape, as if it's somehow aware of me, and friendly.”

“You’ve added another favor on your tab,” Czeha says, “and I’m not one to go into the negatives—I owe you.” “Oh no,” I say as I lift my hands and wave them modestly, “not at all. I really am happy to help.” “Stopping a mage from wrecking the tavern, cleaning up after a fight, and heck—you didn’t even get to drink that whiskey of yours, did you?” “I suspect it might be on the floor by now.” I shrug playfully. “A shame, after such a great show pouring it. Although,” I hurry to add, “I’ll still pay for what I ordered, of course!” “You’re kidding.” Czeha laughs. It’s a fun sound that has an exciting bite to it, almost as if it’s bordering on a bark. But it’s full of warmth in a way that sends a tendril of heat through me. “The tavern’s in your debt. And even if that wasn’t the case, I’m not gonna charge you for something you didn’t get to drink. Here.”

“You’ve already said that,” Alex says. “Why should I go?” “You’re the only person I have,” I say. “And I want us all to be together. It will be good for us.” “Oh, so now I’m back in the picture again.” “Alex. Something bigger than you is occurring right now. I’m sorry about your unhappy childhood.” She glares at me in that special way of hers and Joanie’s that makes me feel worthless and foul-smelling. “So we’ll tell Scottie we’re going on a vacation while Mom is in the hospital?” “It’s for a day or two,” I say. “Scottie’s been in the hospital every day for almost a month now. She needs a break. It’s not good for her. I’d like you to be in charge of answering any questions she may have. She looks up to you. She’ll hang on whatever you say.” I’m hoping a leadership role, a specific chore, will make Alex act like an adult and treat Scottie well. “Can you do that?” She shrugs. “If you can’t handle things, let me know. I’ll help. I’m here for you.” Alex laughs. I wonder if there are parents who can say things to their kids like “I love you” or “I’m here for you” without being laughed at. I have to admit it’s a bit uncomfortable. Affection, in general, is unpleasant to me. “What if Mom doesn’t make it for two days?” “She will,” I say. “I’ll tell her what we’re doing.” Alex looks uncomfortable with this idea, that what I’ll say will make her mother want to live. “I’m bringing Sid,” she says. “If he doesn’t come, then I’m not going.” I’m about to protest, but I see the look in her eyes and know this is yet another battle that I’m bound to lose. Something about this guy is helping her. And Scottie seems to like him. He can keep her distracted. He can work for me. “Okay,” I say. “Deal.”

“You’ve always felt everything so intensely,” she said after a moment’s pause. “And that was something I did love about you. How much you loved your family, how you would do anything for them. But you kept your heart closed off. You didn’t trust anyone, and I don’t blame you—you took everything on yourself, and you kept so many secrets, because you thought you had to. But when you opened up the Institute for the war council, you made yourself trust other people to help you execute a plan. You didn’t hide; you let yourself be open to being hurt or betrayed so you could lead them. And when you came to me in the Silent City and you stopped me breaking the rune—” Her voice shook. “You told me to trust not just you but in the intrinsic goodness of the world. That was my worst point, my darkest point, and you were there, despite everything, with your heart open. You were there to bring me home.” He laid his fingers against the bare skin of her arm, where her parabatai rune had once been. “You brought me back too,” he said with a sort of awe. “I’ve loved you all my life, Emma. And when I felt nothing, I realized— without that love, I was nothing. You’re the reason I wanted to break out of the cage. You made me understand that love creates far more joy than any pain it causes.”

“You've answered your question already. Where am I now? I am here, now. That's where I am. Now. If you don't understand, turn yourself around and you speak to the past and speak to the future. What you say matters. What you do matters. Love whom you will, cherish them while you have the time, don't give an inch when the bullies kick at your stilts. Kick back, and then give them a poultice if you've hurt them. The past and future are just window dressing. Where I am is here. I'm busy with a potion that seems to come with this distracting side effect and I better make some corrections before I start hearing violins in the water closet and seeing comets in the chowder. Do you have anything else, or is this just chatter? I hardly think my younger self worth the cost of conversation. Didn't have much to say then and have less to add now, after all this so-called living.”

“You've become a queen, a woman with a complicated personality. You have hidden depths and a wisdom and intelligence that all went unnoticed before by an idiot prince whose heart couldn't listen to anything his ears couldn't hear." Ariel felt a little giddy. "I control storms and the heart of a prince. I like that." If she were in the sea she would have been swooning, thrashing her tail and spinning in circles until she was dizzy.”

“You’ve become your own cage, bars forged from fears you once called armor, now rusted, bleeding into the veins of your dreams. Each step is tethered to the weight of who you were, but that old skin no longer fits your bones. Look down— your shadow clings like a desperate lover, begging you to stay. But beyond the edge, the wind whispers of freedom, of shedding this worn-out shell.”

“You've been a pain in my ass since you were a kid." Not the goodbye speech I was hoping for. "It's true." He nodded. "You've been a fucking pain in my goddamn ass. Throughout your whole childhood, you pushed my buttons. You acted out and gave me every gray hair on my head." "Is this supposed to be an inspirational goodbye, because--" "Just shut your hole and let me finish, all right?" he barked. "Yes, sir." He shifted his feet side to side before pinching the bridge of his nose. When he locked eyes with mine, he stare was filled with tears, and I swore I hadn't ever seen my grandfather cry. "I just want you to know that you got all those characteristics from me. The good, the bad, and the messed-up parts. You're a mirror of your old man, Ian, and I wouldn't want you to be anything other than who you are. So you go out to Los Angeles, and you give them fucking hell, okay? You be a pain in their ass like the damn devil you are. Push their buttons. Push the whole world's buttons until you get that dream of yours. You get that success, and you hold on tight to it. Don't you dare look back to this place until you truly need to, but when you need to look back, we'll be here waiting.”

“You've been a really good friend to me, Richard. And I've sort of got to quite like having you around. Please don't go.' He squeezed her hand in his gently. 'Well,' he said, 'I've sort of got to quite like having you around, too. But I don't belong in this world. In my London...well, the most dangerous thing you ever have to watch out for is a taxi in a bit of a hurry. I like you too. I like you an awful lot. But I have to go home.' She looked up at him with her odd-coloured eyes, green and blue and flame. 'Then we won't ever see each other again,' she said. 'I suppose we won't' 'Thanks for everything you did,' she said, seriously. Then she threw her arms around him, and she squeezed him tightly enough that the bruises on his ribs hurt, and he hugged her back, just as tightly, making all his bruises complain violently, and he simply didn't care.”

“You've been betrothed." Her hand dropped from the unruly seam at her shoulder. She stared straight ahead at his sun-touched skin. "To...Henry Lazar." It wasn't easy for him to say the name. Valerie felt something fall to the floor of her stomach like a wet rag. "No," she said, not wanting to believe him. "No, no," she told his chest. Peter stood mute, wishing he could tell her what she wanted to hear. "It's not possible," she said. "It is. I'm telling you, it's done.”